


Name This Night (Until Morning Takes my Lies)

by Sweetbriar15



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Perspective, Dragon-Mind, Episode: S04e04 Aithusa, Family, Gen, Magic Revealed, Minor Canonical Character(s), Mythical Beings & Creatures, Species Dysphoria, Trust, Trust Issues, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetbriar15/pseuds/Sweetbriar15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moon has turned whole and dark three times now, and she misses her Lord even though she only saw him on the day of her hatching. She yearns for his presence. Like scales from her wings are missing, or she's short one spike on her spine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Night Song" by Family Band.

Every day since her hatching has been spent without him.

Before the sun set, he patted her twice on the head and crouched in front of her tree stump. Holding her front claws in his hands, her Lord spoke in words she did not know—a language 'Garrah said was human. "I have to go," floated in the air between them: she could only understood in her heart, through their bond, that he was not staying with her.

'Garrah said Destiny called their Lord, but the only sounds she heard that day were birds and wind rustling leaves. Yet he went, and she stayed, and 'Garrah stayed with her.

For the first seven sunsets she was content, because 'Garrah knew everything. He taught her the words of the world, and the difference between prey and predator. Those who looked like her Lord but did not have a dragon's heart were to be avoided and not eaten. Squirrels were a good meal for her current size. Do not touch the leaves called poison oak for it will itch and burn which is unpleasant.

Every branch she leapt between, high above the ground, was a new adventure. Her first flight into the clouds brought trilling clicks of joy to her mouth. 'Garrah gave her tips throughout her first solo hunt, and arched his head with pride when her jaw closed around the neck of a sparrow.

Then the days seemed to lengthen, as she found that her energy far exceeded 'Garrah's. Restless, she set out exploring the world further and further, and she discovered loneliness.

She was not alone, but 'Garrah could not keep up with her and their Lord had not come in many days. And 'Garrah told her that he was not allowed to return to the place where their Lord lived, because of a Grave Mistake. "Learn from my folly," he told her. "Our Lord would be very angry if you killed a human."

Death was an unknown. 'Garrah said that eating squirrels was death, but that was food and so it had to be different. He assured her that when she was older she would understand.

"Older?" she asked. She sent him her first memory, the only image she could recall of her Lord whom she missed terribly and wanted desperately to please. "See again—when older?"

"In time, yes," he replied. "Our Lord is unable to be away from Camelot and his King, for his duties there shall someday result in us being able to be near him again. You know this, Little One."

Each time she asks, he gives her the same answer. She wants a different one: she wants her Lord now. But the moon has turned whole and dark three times now, and she misses her Lord even though she only saw him on the day of her hatching. She yearns for his presence. Like scales from her wings are missing, or she's short one spike on her spine.

Will he recognize her if they meet again? She wonders if she would recognize him. The thought that she might not hurts, deep, an ache that does not fade, until she decides that she does not want to wait.

Leaving 'Garrah behind is hard. She knows that he cannot follow her to where their Lord is, and that losing track of her will probably make him upset, but surely he'll understand when she returns from her visit. And she can tell him how well their Lord is doing, and he can be proud of her for finding their Lord and making the journey all on her own. She comforts herself with the knowledge as she flies through the sky, skimming clouds and watching the sun inevitably sink towards the horizon.

There's a little spark in her chest telling her in which direction their Lord lies. As she flies, she lets her eyes close every so often to listen to that spark. Warmth, pleasure…home.

She finds it in the woods. He is closer to her nest than expected. Perhaps her Lord had been coming to visit—she will surprise him, instead!

As she draws near, gliding and hopping between the tall branches of the trees, she sees that her Lord is not alone. There are five other humans with him, with strange silver wrapped about their torsos and arms similar to her own scales. Are they dragon-kin? The red about their shoulders flares like wings, lazily splayed across the ground behind them. Does that mean these are not humans she must avoid?

'Garrah told her repeatedly not to go near humans, but if her Lord is with them, surely she can meet them. He would never put her in danger.

Her Lord sits by the fire, doing what 'Garrah calls cooking. A large iron pot, a spoon, and there, food inside, enough for all the humans as well as her Lord. He's caring for these five silver-red humans—they must also be his, if he takes care of them.

She pauses, kneading her claws against the branch she clings to, because she does not like the thought that he has been caring for these humans but not for her and 'Garrah. She wants his care, too. He's her Lord!

But then, 'Garrah had told her why he could not come to see them often. "The King needs him."

Her eyes widen and she stares between the figures below. This King, if her Lord is always caring for it…the King must be one of those silver-red humans. Perhaps she can ask it for more time with her Lord, and maybe if this King pleasant and willing to play, she'll even let it come see her, too.

She's never met a King. Or a human. She hardly counts her hatching as meeting her Lord, at that, for it was so short a time together.

Her wings flutter—this is her chance to impress her Lord!

Back through the trees, she swoops, and dives to catch a rabbit up. Rabbits have strong legs and are quick on the ground, but a shake of her head breaks its neck and, proudly, she uses her back claws to carry the carcass back up into the trees. While flying above human nests, she has seen them cut the fur from rabbits, so she knows they can eat it. They seem not to like squirrels nearly as much, astonishingly.

The weight in her claws makes gliding harder, and she ends up having to drop the rabbit before her descent. She hovers for a moment, watching proudly as the humans jump to their feet when her gift lands in the dirt beside their fire. Her Lord drops the pot he was stirring and some of their meal sloshes over the side: she clicks her tongue, amused.

She barely waits for their heads to turn up before she's swooping low—but, the heat of the fire, she forgot, the hot air throws her off-balance as it surges into her careful glide.

To her utter horror, her neat landing becomes a tumble and roll. She manages not to squeal, but it is a hastily stifled outburst. Of all the mistakes!

Hoping her Lord does not think too ill of her, she squirms to her feet and shakes her scales down. Then, arching her neck in that way which makes 'Garrah click his own tongue and call her, "Princess," she looks to her Lord for his approval, an embarrassed tremor quivering down her tail.

Turned about by her mistake, the first faces she sees are instead the silver-red humans under his care. Their open mouths emit no noise, a curious gesture when she knows that they need to make sound to speak. Perhaps the one with golden head-fur is the most curious—its eyes are piercing blue, and it holds a long, silver stick in his hand. A strange stick, one she tilts her head at: where on earth did something so shiny and straight come from? Her Lord would know. She turns to find him.

Her first thought is that his head-fur is so much darker than her memory claims. She was right about that odd not-scale red thing about his neck, though. Her excitement bubbles in her chest as seeing him so close, his magic singing to her in welcome—then she sees that his eyes do not shine in similar joy.

Through bond they share, lodged in her heart, she can feel none of the pleasure that she thought her appearance would cause. His scent carries surprise. And also, fear—so much that it seems to choke out everything else in the space between them the longer she sits before him.

Her wings droop. Fear?

Suddenly, he lunges forward, in counterpoint to the noise which has sprung up behind her. She paid it no mind, unable to understand human speech, having no reference for why they sound like metal scraping metal, but clearly the sounds meant something to him. The sharpness of his movements causes her to fall to all four claws, and before she can orient herself he is standing between her and his other humans.

They all have shiny silver sticks. Do they mean to play with her?

"Don't hurt her!"

Though in human-tongue, she can feel the flavor of his words and they are not happy. She scoots back from her gift, trying to catch sight of her Lord's face. But he is turned away from her. She tries to send him a questioning thought and feels it slide away from him, heard but not held, pushed away.

"Merlin, that is a dragon. Not a unicorn or a deer or what-have-you, a dangerous magical creature. Get out of the way."

She tries again, emits a chirp. Why will he not look at her? Why does he not want his humans near her?

"She is a baby! She's not—she won't hurt anyone, look, she just meant to give us a rabbit. Just a gift! No harm done!"

None of his humans look at her, either. The one with golden head-fur is the only one speaking human-tongue to her Lord, and its voice is very loud. It smells distressed, and angry, and the sound is unpleasant. Her ears hurt.

"She." A scrape, like scales on stone. "Merlin. Did you already know about the baby dragon? Because you're quite protective of a monster which shouldn't exist."

The largest of her Lord's humans, one with bared arms, looks down at her. She tucks her tail around her feet when the one with darkest scales is the next to stare. The one with the longest head-fur is the next to look. But still not her Lord. She curls her feet more tightly underneath her wings.

"She isn't—she hatched and I—like it or not, she exists! She has the right to—she won't hurt anyone."

None of their scents have changed from the initial surprise at her appearance—instead, the distress is increasing with every human-tongue noise her Lord or the golden human make.

"Hatched. That is the egg from the Tomb of Ashkelon. An egg you swore was destroyed."

None of them are happy. She does not understand why. Her wings tuck closer around her body.

"I couldn't let her die."

Anger. All she smells is anger. And she feels the emotion across the bond she shares with her Lord.

"You lied to me."

There is a sudden, resounding crash. She whines and shuffles back a few steps and the world goes misty. Through her tears, she sees her Lord's feet step away from her, and she huddles close to the fire. The warmth is her only comfort.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I couldn't tell—she's mine to look after and I didn't—"

A creaky whimper rips through her throat. Her Lord does not react or hear: all she can smell is anger and pain, white-hot and searing. Is this her fault?

"What are you babbling about, yours? A dragon is not a pet, Merlin! It will grow up and become a monster like the one that attacked the city, and it's magical! You must be out of your mind—"

Everything seemed fine before she landed so that is the only explanation. Tears trickle down her scales and she makes no move to shake them away.

"She'd never do that, I can explain, please just—"

What did she do wrong?

"Sire."

Though the world appears misty to her, she sees her Lord twist and turn around. There are suddenly no noises from his humans: with that absence of sound, she can hear her own pitifully weak cries in the still air.

"No, no, no, oh—no," her Lord says. He crouches, his hand reaching toward her, and she can finally see his face again and—and he looks sad, that is just as bad as him being angry at her. "You're all right." There is pain, but as she blinks rapidly to clear her sight she can feel him through the bond, reaching for her. "Don't cry." Through the turmoil, she feels again the affection she remembers, as if from a dream. The love extended to her on the day of her hatching. "Please, I'm here."

With their bond open she can see: the bad emotions were the strongest because he fought with the golden head-furred human.

"I'm not angry at you," he says in human-speak. Inside, he tells her, _Come here, Little One._

He wants her. Her Lord is not angry at her, but for her, because 'Garrah was right about avoiding humans and one of her Lord's humans is not happy to see her. That hurts very much and she wants nothing more than his offered comfort. She leaps, half-flapping, into his arms. He grunts at the impact but holds her over her wings, and she lets her tail curl around his arm as her head tucks into his neck. Her Lord. Finally.

"Great job, Princess. You made the baby dragon cry."

Her ear flicks at the return of human noise. She clings to her Lord, trying to stop the residual tremors, but they are slow to leave her scales.

"There should not be a baby dragon at all."

"Stop it, Arthur." A heart beats steadily under her own. "Please. You'll upset her again."

Her Lord speaks to them, his voice harsh again, but this time she understands. He is not angry at her: he is angry with his human.

"This cannot be happening. I am not catering to the whims of infant monsters." Metal slides on metal and she shivers closer to her Lord. "You are under suspicion of being a traitor. Sir Leon, you're officially on guard duty over—both of them. The rest of you are hereby ordered not to assist their escape. I am going to…get more firewood."

She snuffles into her Lord's neck, soaking in the heat which is familiar from the vague memories of her time in-shell. Only near the end of that time was she aware of his heat and presence. The familiarity lingers despite their long separation because this was the first sensation in her memories.

"Arthur—"

"Not. Now."

She is content in her Lord's arms.

'Garrah never has much energy to entertain her, and she sometimes tries to have fun before taking down her next meal, but these humans are completely different. For one, she does not want to eat them, and they are larger than her but not so much stronger, like 'Garrah.

She quiets and calms in her Lord's arms once the human with golden head-fur has stomped into the forest. She can smell his sadness and tries to trill comfort. But that does not seem to make him feel better. She sends small images to ask if he wants anything, and he accepts.

Thus, she ends up grooming his head-fur: though he is not completely removed from his sadness, his happiness rises and he makes a sound which feels the way her tongue-clicks do. She counts this as a success and finally leaps from his arms and goes back to her gift.

No one has touched the rabbit yet, so she paws at the crumpled fur, looking hopefully between the humans who sit some distance away in various locations. Most of them keep looking at her and then quickly away, but one of them simply stares. This is the human she approaches, with the rabbit's neck in her jaw. It is the one with the longest head-fur. She drops her gift in front of him and looks up, then nudges the rabbit again with her snout.

"I think it wants you to take the rabbit."

"Is it….safe to approach?"

"She's not going to hurt you."

The human finally comes close and picks up the carcass. She trills to express her approval and skips away, circling their campfire—a lovely, rich color, and of just the right temperature for her scales. She wriggles against the heat.

"How do you know? It—she is a dragon. Small now, but—"

"They grow."

Her claws curl in the strewn twigs about the fire. One of them is hooked in an interesting way and she bats the small piece between her claws.

"She knows not to eat humans, Leon." A scraping sound, which when she looks, turns out to be the spoon in the pot. "They aren't her natural food source. And she's been taught that people are not for eating."

Though seen from a distance, she has never been close to human food. She walks over to where he crouches, sniffing at the strange combination of meat-scent and plant-scents. Why would he ruin perfectly good meat with all that?

"How sure are you about that?"

The contents of the pot even look unnatural. How do humans eat this? Why? She leans closer, sniffing.

"Absolutely. If I thought she were a danger, I would stop—Aithusa. No."

Her Lord pushes her head back and she sits on her back legs, paying attention. She recognized her name, though not the other human words. He wants her attendance, her attention, which she gives him willingly.

"That's for us. You wouldn't like it. Here." He moves toward a log and she hops after him, seeing a detached tooth in one of his hands and the rabbit she brought with the other. "Let's share your gift, hmm?" When he rips one leg away from the rabbit, he holds the piece out to her. This makes her tremble and roar in joy—her Lord, feeding her! A wave of bliss rolls through her, and the sense that this is right.

"Was that a baby roar? It was!"

"You're far too excited about this, Gwaine."

Using her tail for balance, she flaps her wings to show that she is ready. Her Lord hesitates, still dangling the leg too close between them and near the ground. She senses his confusion, just before there is a burst of understanding. "Here, Aithusa." In their bond: _Catch_.

He tosses the leg up—not nearly as high as she could go, but the arc causes her to twist into the air, lunging and spinning, catching her treat between her claws. She roars in victory before remembering that she has to land, too, and her wings get turned about again. She rolls twice, clutching her prize to her stomach, and stops on her spines.

"You cannot tell me that was not adorable."

Righting herself, she rips into the meat she was given, tearing through the fur to reach the good parts. As she eats, the human-noises stop. She appreciates their good manners, as they last right up until she takes the bone and returns to the fire, gnawing the way 'Garrah has told her is not just pleasurable but good for her mouth-health. Her Lord must be impressed with her responsibility.

"I know you all have more questions than that."

The bone breaks in her mouth and she sucks. Usually bones last longer: she is growing stronger.

"I think that the King has first right to hear your explanations."

The air has turned. She lets go of the bone and sniffs, trying to figure out this new emotion. Not pain, not anger, but not one she likes or wants any of them to keep. Her Lord's humans are distraught, and so is her Lord. They need to be happy.

"Lying to him is harder than anything." This all started when she appeared, so she must make them all feel better. "At first, I was just so afraid and that kept me silent. For me, and for her." But how, is the question—and her answer comes as her claws rustle the twigs around the campfire. They are fun to drop from near the clouds and catch before they hit the ground. "And then, later, when I thought maybe—then, it was the guilt." Maybe if his humans were to toss a stick up into the air, then they could all play! Fun always made her forget her longing for her Lord, at least for as long as she was playing. The distraction might surely work on her Lord's humans. "I guess I am just a bit of a coward."

She finds the twig she thought was interesting. Clutching the hooked piece between her youngling teeth, she pauses to consider which of her Lord's humans seems most approachable. The one with the longest head-fur keeps looking at her, and it did take the rabbit earlier. Then it bares its teeth at her. A challenge! Yes, this human will do.

"Merlin, I do not know what the King will decide. But care for a living creature to your own detriment is not cowardly."

Careful of her balance, she approaches her intended playmate cautiously, keeping her senses aware and keen on her Lord. She does not know if he will be like 'Garrah or wish for her not to shame his humans with her prowess and ability, but hopes that he will see that this is about distracting the humans.

"Perhaps your actions are a bit foolish, but Percival is right. For my part, the cause makes the lies seem less like outright betrayal."

All members of his flock should be allowed to fly. Even if she's the only one with wings. And the humans are not dragon-kin, even though they are under her Lord's protection. She can accept their presence despite their foreign nature.

"Thank you, Elyan, but—"

Stopping two body's lengths away from the one with long head-fur, she drops the stick between them and sits up on her back legs. The human looks between the stick and her and shows more of its teeth. Her Lord has done that before, always when she feels amusement from him, or happiness, or comfort.

"He still chose to keep a dangerous secret. And one strongly tied to magic."

What good fortune—already, she is making one of her Lord's humans feel better! Playfully, she leans down and rolls the stick further across the distance separating them. It reaches forward and picks up the stick in its long, blunted claws.

"Leon, I know you are one of the few who was here when the Great Dragon—"

The stick soars through the air and she twists and flips to follow it. She's faster than the throw and catches her toy easily.

"Yeah! Good girl!"

But she's flown right across all four of her Lord's humans in doing so, and hovers for a moment, uncertain, as her bond with her Lord flares with a brief surge of irritation. She calms immediately upon seeing his gaze directed at the long-furred human, who is making that human noise she knows is like her clicking.

"Gwaine, she is not a puppy!"

The human raises its claws, palms flat. She flies back, proudly clutching the stick in her own claws.

"Easy, there. She brought me the stick."

She tosses the toy. The human's claws move to accommodate the dropped stick. Careful this time, hoping to prove her control, she flutters to the ground and sits proudly upright. When her Lord's eyes land on her, they are warm and gentle. _They are not used to you yet, but you are showing them a good side of yourself_. She preens at the praise.

He turns and cuts more meat from her gift-rabbit, calls, "Aithusa!" and she hops towards him immediately. Praise and a treat!

"Her name—is it from one of Gaius' books?"

She has done well, making the long-furred one bare teeth and make human happy-noises. Her Lord tosses her a few chunks; she snatches one in her mouth before it hits the ground.

"Naming her was slightly more complicated. But her name means 'light of the sun' and she's a fairly strong breed, can live at least a thousand years. She's also a rare color—well. She would have been. Comparatively."

The second chunk has a few pieces of dirt stuck on the outside, and a bit of the blood was left on the ground. She licks at the dirt, not minding the grit.

"Is it feeding time for us people yet?"

"Yeah, just about ready. Um. Could I. Could you—"

This is how real food should be eaten. She wishes her Lord weren't so much like his humans about eating: she could have asked to learn hunting tips from him.

"Merlin, it may be best to let him be a while longer—"

There's so much her Lord must know that she is not able to ask for yet. When she is older, she can. 'Garrah told her that baby dragons grew quickly because the wild world demanded strength from the egg. Once hatched, her wings had only one night to dry and harden for flight.

"No need."

She shakes them out now, nosing the bloody dirt. Then she pauses: the air's changed, a new scent leaking into the previously calming space. The human with golden head-fur who was angry at her Lord has returned. The human's head-fur shines in the firelight.

"Arthur."

Her eyes catch on its silver-red limbs, at the way this human's claws are clenched. He smells of anger and sadness, and something else more complicated.

"Eat. Tomorrow will be a long ride."

The human sweeps one claw in a wide arc, and the other humans stand quickly and approach her Lord. They scoot around her and the fire, and her Lord spoons out their food into small, dented things with a shaking hand. She chirps, watching him, and he quiets her with a look and a push of soothing calm through their bond. The golden human stands beside one of the trees, leaning one shoulder into the bark. It does not look at her but carries in its body the same tension of predatory grace that she feels in her own limbs when she is on the hunt.

This makes her uneasy. Her Lord is unhappy—she can feel that much, clearly—but the other emotions are lessened. She realizes that her Lord's underlying simmer of fear has lessened to nothing more than a flicker. There is longing coming from him, now. Why?

His humans are, at least, seemingly pleased with a meal in their claws. Each grips their food and heads back to log or rock to perch. The one with the darkest scales has two, and holds one out to the golden human.

"I am not hungry yet."

"Yes, sire."

The dark-scaled one retreats to a log, placing the second bowl on the ground. She wonders if she would be shooed away from the bowl if she were to approach, but decides against moving when the golden human straightens and moves away from his tree.

"You have one chance to be honest with me, Merlin. That chance is now. When I ask questions, do not lie to me. Once I hear your answers, I will decide what happens next. The Knights are silent witnesses and will remain silent. Do you understand?"

Her Lord is so strongly torn between conflicting emotions that she turns her snout away. There is too much for her to sort through, but she understands, vaguely, that this is what an argument looks like.

"Yes, sire."

'Garrah has never fought with her. She is glad that she has never made him angry enough—only vaguely irritated, when she is especially energetic or disobedient the first time he gives her an order.

"Why did you see fit to betray your King's trust?"

What has this human so angry with her Lord? She can smell the emotion on him—also complicated, foreign emotions, but at the core there is hurt. And anger.

"My loyalty is only ever to you: I never thought to harm Camelot. And I hated lying to you but I also have a duty that I cannot ignore, and Camelot being as it is…I couldn't tell you."

There has to be something that she can do for her Lord and for his distraught humans. She made one happy again. But that human no longer seems pleased, instead curling over its bowl like it thinks one of its companions will try to take it.

"A duty. To dragons."

"Arthur. Balinor was my father."

There will be no more games, not now: they are hardly in the mood to join her, though play would cheer them. She kneads the dirt with her claws and watches intently as the golden human folds large silver arms over its chest. Defensive, the air changing. She sniffs.

"My—I heard said, once: a Dragonlord's powers are inherited by his children, once he has passed into the next world."

The anger is fading. Have her Lord's mouth sounds calmed him? This must be the case, and she lets her wings flutter with the gradual easing of tension.

"Gaius only told me just before we left to find him. And once the Great Dragon was no longer a threat to Camelot, I wanted to tell you. But—the old King was going to betray Balinor even after asking for his help. I thought. If he knew I was."

These are important things she has learned. Humans require much talking to get anywhere. Her actions have made little lasting difference in their moods, but as she sniffs at the air again, the tension around this small clearing has grown lighter. She starts to understand that this must be why her Lord has to be away so much. Humans are very high-maintenance, while dragons appear to be much more self-sufficient.

"You had every reason to fear, though I wish you trusted that I would not have let him kill you. I can forgive you that fear. But my father has been dead for some time, now."

A small part of her unhappy since her hatching starts to ease. She hop-flutters to her Lord, walking the last few steps and curling on top of his feet. Her submission to his will, and seeking comfort in his touch, is communicated in small images she sends his way. He does not change the focus of his attention, but through their bond, he welcomes her presence. "You can stay. It is safe. Let me finish speaking with the King, Little One."

"After so long, to break my silence, I just. Couldn't. I thought that part of me wouldn't matter, not until I learned there was an egg. Then—I could not stand the thought of her death. It was so strong. Like someone had threatened to kill my child. I had to save her and I wasn't quite able to think straight about it, but even if I had I might have been too afraid to tell you the truth in case you wouldn't listen and exile or kill me and destroy her egg anyway."

The King? She thought it was in this group of humans, but had no way to tell—and now she does! She looks at the golden human, curiosity rising again. This human is different from the rest, she supposes. It is the one 'Garrah says their Lord is always away to care for: the other humans must be part of this King's nest, falling into the same protection by merit of proximity.

"Lying to me in the first place was a horrible decision on your part. Between that and thinking I'd send you away or worse—"

It all makes sense now. And so does this King's distress at her appearance. After all, wasn't she unhappy at the thought of her Lord being away to care for this King? And now, seeing how much effort goes into caring for humans, she has no difficulty seeing how the appearance of her Lord's primary charge may have ruffled the human's scales.

"Shouldn't you?"

This simply won't do. They share her Lord, and the humans must respect that he is hers.

"Over secretly raising a dragon? Or…do you mean the magic part? My father thought Dragonlords were too close to sorcerers. Was he right?"

She adjusts her position on his feet to lift her wings, forming kind of shield. If she were bigger, he would be hidden from view. But she feels the meaning in her gesture, the message she means to send: that this Lord is her Lord, that she will protect him and defend him and offend on his behalf if he calls for her to do so.

"Yes and no. Dragonlords and dragons are kin. Being what I am did not guarantee that I would be able to use magic. But I can. I always could."

The golden King does not look away from her Lord, but its scent is also easing, so she thinks that perhaps it is sharp enough to pay attention like a true predator—taking in surroundings without clearly signaling obvious attention to them. The other humans, with their now-consumed food, do see her movement and their heads lean toward one another. She cannot hear what they say, but each one bares teeth, if only for a moment.

"What do another few years of lies matter, in the end?"

This seems to be their surrender, which she finds curious. If she were not so close to her Lord and his King, she might be able to puzzle out their scents. But even if the teeth-baring is what she thought it was before—a symbol of their joy—she is pleased by their acceptance of her declaration.

"I've never used it to harm Camelot. Or you. I'd never want to do either."

After all, has she not proven herself in hunting prowess? Has she not provided for them? They can see that she is a skilled hunter. And she will prove the rest of her claim over time, as all claims must be proven by action rather than declaration.

"Just before, I tried to figure out what possible reasons my trusted, idiotic servant would have for lying. None of this came to mind. I never would have believed it of you, can barely grasp it now."

She has shown herself strong and capable, able to be flight-companion to her Lord even in her youth.

"Even though I've done it all my life. Lying to you was hard. I'm—I'm sorry."

He is the only one who can accept that role for her. Through their bond, his tension eases and calms. She feels that when she is older, he will call upon her aid.

"Arthur. There is more. All the rest is part of—of the magic. You said one chance, but the rest is rather a lot. Things I should have told you."

She feels relief. Though her appearance made a slight mess of human neediness and confusion, she's also seen how easily her Lord is able to manage them. They are a volatile species, and she has a better understanding of why 'Garrah always told her to avoid humans. She could not possibly help raise them at her age, but her Lord is doing an admirable job.

"We do have quite a few years to go over. But I do not think I can take any more secrets tonight. So what was said here shall remain among this group and shared with no other. Merlin, I. I do not know if I can continue to trust you. Not until we've spoken at great length at a later date. But you need not fear the pyre."

When she is older, she can certainly help him. Behind her back, his legs move, and she looks up. Her tongue clicks when she sees him bending down, and she tucks her wings to let him more easily lift her.

"Thank you, sire."

She twists, curling, and he cradles her back-down so she can look up at his face. Her tail twists around his arm and she reaches up to tug on the red not-a-scale at his throat. He bares his teeth at her as her claws knead at the soft thing. He talks to her, in human-tongue, for the benefit of his other charges. Through their bond he sends her good feelings, so she pays no mind to his other words.

"I know you want attention, and I very much appreciate you not interrupting, but the threat display was entirely unnecessary."

"Is that what she was doing? With the wings?"

He adjusts his grip on her and walks toward the human-food pot. "She's a little protective. And, I think, still hungry." To her, he says, _Are you still hungry?_

In answer, she twists out of his arms and drops to the ground. Her snout is almost in snapping distance of the rabbit when he snatches her gift up from its log. Foiled, she skips backwards on her hind legs and looks up, expectant.

"You know, when you bring a gift to somebody, you usually don't eat the whole thing yourself."

He makes conversation with his humans as he cuts another chunk out for her. Then he looks over her to one of them, and with the hand not holding her meat, wriggles his fingers.

"Trust me."

The golden King steps closer to them. She turns, wary, but curious—this is new. Her Lord places the meat in the human's hand.

"Are you sure about this?"

For a moment, she thinks that he is giving away her meat. But humans eat different food, this must be… She sends a questioning thought to her Lord as the golden King stands, discomfort emitting faintly from its silver scales.

"Absolutely." Her Lord's eyes meet her own. _The King would like to feed you, and welcome your presence_.

A welcome? Her head arches proudly. Flapping her wings, she pushes off the ground and makes it to the human's arm in one bound. It wobbles underneath her like a sapling branch, and she is careful of her claws, but eventually the arm steadies underneath the grip of her back claws. She leans forward on her front claws, wrapping her tail around the limb for balance, and starts eating.

"My turn next!"

"I think we should keep Gwaine away from the baby dragon."

"That is entirely unfair."

"You'll be a bad influence on her."

"Defamation! Merlin, you'll let me feed the dragon, won't you?"

"She's eaten enough tonight."

The human chatter is a more or less pleasing background noise to her, now. With every word, a spike of pleasure scents the air, and she appreciates their joy. The lightened scent tells her that everything is finally calmed. She shakes her wings out when she's done, turning about on the arm to look at the face of the human who is holding her.

Suddenly, she realizes that this is the first person other than 'Garrah or her Lord who has touched her. Or rather, whom she has touched. The human's scales are firm under her claws, and its eyes are blue and bright. It smells the tiniest bit afraid, like it thinks she will fall.

"Aithusa. This is Arthur." Her Lord nudges at her, gently, an image of a hand petting her scales.

She takes her Lord at his word: the golden King will gently welcome her. Slowly, she creeps up the arm holding her. It trembles under her movement, eyes never leaving her, but eventually she is perched on a shoulder. It cannot look at her easily anymore. The human's hand lifts and she allows him to stroke down her back, letting her tail curl around claws.

"Aithusa." The golden King says her name in human-tongue. She clicks, pleased by its gentle touch.

In return, she sits back and puts her front claws in the human's head fur. Like she does for her Lord, she starts grooming. She would have helped it clean its scales, but they are very shiny and clearly already cared for—likely done prior to her arrival, by the other humans with scales. She wonders if anyone cleans her Lord and supposes that, even if he has no scales, they probably do clean him. Just more gently.

"Merlin. Is it searching for nits?"

"Ah-hah. Um. Grooming. She means to say she accepts you." Her Lord sends her an image of tiny bugs and asks, _He doesn't have nits, right?_

She pauses in her activities to stare at her Lord. Even if his King did have those, she would hardly be trying to hunt them out. They are far too small for a good meal.

"I do not have nits."

"Sure you don't, Princess."

She snorts and resumes her cleaning, though a word her Lord used sticks. _He?_ She sends the question, to which her Lord responds with an amused confirmation on behalf of all his humans.

"Oh, look. There are dirty plates lying around, and I am sure that Merlin could use some help cleaning them since he suddenly has another wild creature to care for tonight."

This should not have surprised her so much. _Why always 'he'?_  she asks. 'Garrah, her Lord, his humans. _Are there other 'she' anywhere?_

_You have not met any yet. You will. Gwen—Guinevere—eventually, and she will be happy to meet you._

How strange. Other 'she'. She sets the thought aside as she finishes running her claws through the human's head-fur. His head-fur. It is thick and shines beautifully in the firelight, but is certainly not as free from dirt as she likes for her scales.

Finished with her task, she takes to the air again and hovers for a moment, glancing over at her Lord. She sends him an image-question, of her attending to his other humans. When he bares his teeth and releases short huffs of air, she reconsiders her question. Then she feels his amusement and receives his permission.

"What on earth is wrong with you, now?"

"She wants—she asked—"

The air takes her quickly, and the one with long head-fur is startled by her landing on its—on his shoulder. He yelps and she smacks his head with one wing before sitting back on her claws and proceeding to comb through his hair.

"What—"

"She thought you needed it."

The entire clearing is full of those strange choking sounds humans make when they are happy. She lets the sound roll off her scales as she gives this human's head a good, thorough cleaning. Honestly, none of them seem to have ever groomed themselves before, and she feels a little sorry for them. Humans are so difficult to care for that her Lord must not have been able to teach them everything they need to know, even though he's spent far more time with them than with her.

On the other claw, she's also becoming increasingly proud of how she's able to show off to her Lord all she has learned. Through their bond, she feels how happy he is with her growth. And now, helping him care for his humans, she is also showing him that she should be allowed to stay with him more often.

Once done with the human who has the longest head-fur, she hops down to the log and makes her way to the next, the human with very dark scales. He has much less head fur, but she pats at his skull to soothe him for the loss. Head-fur may be a status marker among humans, and in that case, he may be a bit sensitive about it.

"Are all my knights unclean louts?"

"Hardly. For dragons, cleaning scales is something family or close companions do for one another. Your 'scales', the mail, looks clean already, but you do have—well, hair, but she thinks it's fur and, well, she likes you all. So she's trying to do something nice and welcoming."

The one with very large arms puzzles her for a moment. She does not want to land on the bared skin, because she knows that it is softer than scales. Many humans are afflicted with this condition—in fact, more humans have it than they do scales, her Lord included. They have different, thinner barriers, like the thing around her Lord's neck. But she has to get to his shoulder somehow.

To her delight, he holds out one arm at an angle for her to climb. Clicking her tongue, she carefully places her claws so that she can rest most of her weight on the inside pads, and makes her way up a little more slowly. His head-fur is also not as long as some humans, but he makes those huffing sounds as she works so she knows that he likes it.

"Though you've said several times now that it—that she, the dragon, has asked for or commented on something, I have not heard her make a single sound that could be translated into an entire conversation. How do you know what she thinks? Or what dragons used to do together?"

"Part of the magic. She's still too young to speak, so she sends me images or thoughts. I can respond."

Pleased with her effort, she turns to the last silver-red human and contemplates jumping from the height of her current perch on to him. Just as she's wriggling to take flight, large hands grasp around her middle. She snorts and turns her head, but it's only the long-furred human and so she quiets immediately.

"Leon's turn!"

His bared teeth seem to startle the human he carries her toward, for she can smell his comfort decreasing the closer she is brought. Her tail curls up to her stomach. She does not want any memory of the arguing to rise back up, but this human seems almost afraid of her.

Maybe it is not about her, though, because not only does he let her claws come to a rest securely on his body, but the stress in his scent decreases as her claws start combing. She moves slowly and gently just in case, but by the time she is done, he seems to have grown accustomed to the contact.

The human-tongue is a low murmur, like a bird building its nest. The sounds are starting to feel almost comforting, even though she understands not one word of it. Their voices have also quieted since her appearance, no longer meant for all ears present but instead, in small groups. There is settling movement all around her: rubbing scales into bark, laying out small nesting pads, and the air is starting to take on the pre-sleep scents.

Humans do not stay awake at night, she sees. What odd creatures they are—even her Lord, as she can feel through his unguarded mind that he is also in need of rest.

This is another opportunity for her to show off to her Lord. She can guard the camp this night, and keep his humans safe from all harm. They will rest more easily knowing that a top predator is their companion and newly-made nest-mate. Grooming has shown her approval of her Lord's other charges, and they are now welcome in her nest and she in theirs. And should they have need of her skills, she will always come.

These humans are not exactly a substitute for other egg-born, for kin of her flight-able kind, but they are what she has in the absence of such companions. Her Lord has shown her who he wants her to accept, and she is pleased by his choices. They have been welcoming to her, even though jealous at first, like fresh-out-of-the-egg hatchlings. She is just out of the hatchling stage herself, and can admit to her own jealousy without silly displays of anger.

Her Lord's humans cannot speak to her, and she cannot speak to them—though 'Garrah says that when she is older, she will be able to make use of their tongue. Thankfully her new nest-mates will not have to wait too long for her to reach that age: she is eager for the day they can talk, as she does now with her Lord.

Hopping back to the ground, she winds her way toward the fire and curls her tail around her back feet. Her Lord looks down at her, from where he sits on a log beside his golden human. They have been two whose human-words were too low to hear.

The golden human looks as well, and she hesitates. She wants to curl up with her Lord, but this human smells faintly of sadness still. She does not like that and wants him to be happy. Her Lord takes such good care of him, and he has no business not being content in her Lord's presence. She sends her Lord the question.

His lips curl back around his teeth and he huffs air out in his happy-way. _Ask him yourself._

She comes close enough to reach up with her front claws. They fall atop the golden human's knees and he stares. His scent has turned surprised. She trills, looking, and eventually he leans back on the log. Her wings flap twice and she gets herself just high enough in her jump to land on his legs.

The perch is uneven and strange to her legs, but she feels the human body-heat almost all the way around her. Her Lord is hotter and she can feel his magic thrum under her claws, but this golden human is also comfortable. He feels very solid.

"Shut up, Merlin."

"I didn't say—"

"Stop that blasted smiling. You look ridiculous."

She tucks her legs up underneath her and rests her head on her front claws. Though she will watch over them through the night, the humans are not quite ready to settle into their nests. They are merely preparing for the eventuality. Until then, she will rest in the comfortable lap of this golden human.

The dawn signals her departure. 'Garrah will have many things to say to her about the night's adventure, and she only hopes that he does not scold too long. Her Lord hasn't, after all!

The humans are just about to wake when she takes off into the air. She calls her Lord awake with her farewell, and he responds—sleepily, with a hint of sadness, but also with the certainty that they will see each other again. That he will visit, or that she can, if she wishes.

Up she soars, high into the clouds just brushing the tips of the tallest trees, and she prepares excitedly to relay the sequence of events to 'Garrah. Maybe next time, he can visit their Lord and his humans with her. All three of them, together with her new next-mates!

And she will never go that long without seeing her Lord again. He has welcomed her with open arms and she knows that he is proud of her. All that is left is to plan the next time she will fly to his side—and that time can never be too soon.


	2. Many Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An additional snippet, in the same world.

That winter’s end is marked by the moment she can no longer perch on a tree stump.

Standing on her back legs, she can nip at ‘Garah’s shoulder. Her wings can shade an entire tree while she flew. In the wildness of her infancy, she flew from shore to shore, the ice-covered north to the southern sea over which came strange people from a distant land. She watched humans from the sky, but never approached. ‘Garah said it was too dangerous—there was no guarantee they would be as welcoming as their Lord’s humans.

He is an inconstant visitor, her Lord. His King and the King’s people have a greater need for him. She is old enough to understand, but young enough to grow lonesome when curled in the back of her cave.

Her growth will be a surprise to him: her head had been level with his waist the last time he came into the forest with his humans, Camelot’s knights. She greeted them all and happily allowed feeding and their gentle hands to stroke down her scales. She was not as easily able to groom them, but they didn’t seem to mind and had grown better at caring for themselves.

Time spent with them also teaches her human words. In this, her learning comes slowly. But she is fond of them and less jealous now of her Lord’s attention to their needs. She will have many more centuries with him than they will, after all.

However, as she shakes the lingering glaze of snow’s chill from her scales, she feels still a foreign yearning.

Over the seasons she learned that sometimes, the feeling is not her own transmitted through their bond, often without her Lord’s knowledge, comes a loneliness deep in his soul. This is one of those times.

Mild throughout the worst of the cold, darkened days, the sensation grows in intensity as the days warm towards spring. She enjoys her hibernation, but the warmth is a joy to those frail humans who struggle through the hardest season. Her wings had shaken with his longing.

Sometimes, he will be on his way to meet her by the time it grows this strong. Other times, if she waits, he will be there within a few days. Two suns have come and gone since she started sensing him this time, and he has yet to feel any closer.

Her Lord is unable to leave Camelot.

She pokes her head out of her cave, eyeing the faint glow that comes before dawn. This is new: he has never taken so long to come to her. She fell asleep the previous night despite anxiety, and awoke to find that her own state remained unchanged.

The castle of Camelot is not too far from her territory. Surely, her Lord will not be angry if she merely checks on him. He does not want her to be seen by too many humans, too often, but his King and the King’s knights know about him. Her Lord even said that the King had sent a decree out about dragons, whatever that meant. Aithusa is not entirely clear on the purpose of one, but knows her Lord things it was important and wonderful.

She knows about, but has never been to, her Lord’s Camelot. She knows he fears for her, with so few dragons alive. But this is his King and the King’s people. Her Lord would not care for them if they are not also good. And she will be careful.

:: :: ::

The walls of what they call their “citadel” glow in the early morning sunlight. A beacon for her eyes as she soars above the clouds, the entirely unnatural construction captivating her as she nears. This is the place her Lord calls home. This is the place to which he returned when he leaves her and ‘Garah to their respectable caves. This place of strangely lined, angular stones.

She can sense him better, and descends to the trees for better coverage. Dancing among the topmost branches in intricate aerial loops, she slows when the sounds of clanging metal strike her ears.

Her Camelot knights had showed her their swords at her Lord’s request. He wanted her to know, and never let it touch her. The order was not in her tongue’s Command, but she could not imagine disobeying her Lord.

A sword is dangerous.

They had struck two of the swords together. Her Lord told her that was the sound of a fight. She confirmed that she had witnessed humans at battle before, and he praised her for not interfering. For leaving. She had left because that noise struck something in her that she could not name, a fear that had no word, and that was why she believed so easily that a sword was a danger to her kind as well as to humans.

That sound is what she hears now, as she approaches this “citadel”.

For a moment, she lingers in the trees. Her Lord had all but Commanded that she never approach a human with a sword. But this is not just a village, this is his Camelot, this is her Lord’s home.

And those sounds…a fight…is this connected to why her Lord had not come to her?

The thought tugs her into rash movement. She flings her wings wide and soars up again. Her claws skim the top of the trees and she arches her head high, eyes looking towards the origin of the sound.

Two humans in knight’s armor, swords sliding against each other, braced against the impact—one with golden hair.

Her Lord’s King.

As she watches, the other human swings his sword—at the King’s _head_.

The world dulls to sharp shadows and dim light. She feels her lips curling back over sharp fangs, and pumps her wings hard as though the air is not already lifting her up. The red flame in her chest, ever ignited, grows to a piercing, blue heat.

How _dare_ this human attack her King!

Perhaps there are other humans trying to help. Perhaps this is not the only battle taking place inside of this strange human place. These facts do not matter when the world has grayed into a sight which strikes her deep to her inner flame.

Attacking her King, her Lord’s humans!

Her wings carry her over the wall and human sounds erupt below as her shadow darts across the ground.

She lands in the sudden distance between her King and this enemy, smells the fear in their scents as her back claws dug into the ground and her wings flare wide. She stands on her back legs, body shielding her King entirely from this enemy’s sight. Her front claws are ready for the dangerous glittering blade pointing at her stomach, and so is her fire ready to lash out at her next inhalation. Smoke curls between her teeth—

“Aithusa! No!”

—and the enemy raises his weapon and she has not fought one before, does not know how best to keep her scales unbroken, but she will never move from protecting her King and so draws her flame up her throat to—

“ _Aithusa! Stop!_ ”

Dragon-tongue screamed aloud, she cannot ignore.

In the darkness of shadow and brightness of light, human tongue washed past her still-learning ears, but the voice of her Lord stills her entirely for an instant. Long enough for the enemy to start backing away, and though she wants to fight the command, her nature will not allow her to move for the human.

She roars at him, roars at her Lord, their bond carrying thoughts she cannot put to words, the necessity of quick action, the necessity of her heart’s flame.

He shouts her name in human-voice again, approaching like a loping wolf.

In the wake of her rage, she snaps her teeth at him, warning him away from the traitorous human enemy.

Illogically, he tells her, “ _Do not hurt him! You do not need to defend the King._ ” He tells her such a wild tale in dragon-tongue, though not Command.

She steps back, using her tail to nudge the King back in safety, keeping one eye on the human enemy and the other on her Lord. She does not understand what he means; the King was in danger! He gestures for her to lower her head.

She snorts smoke about his face, a clear threat to anyone else, a signal of her annoyance and confusion to her Lord.

“ _I will Command if I must; do not force me. Release the King._ ”

She relents two steps further, allowing the King to stand apart instead of winding her tail to keep him close. Her Lord’s fear is seeping through their bond and, abruptly, it snaps her rage into submission. Fear from her Lord, but certainty that the King is safe, means that she has missed something. After all, her Lord cares for the King like no other and would never allow him to come to harm. If he says that he does not need her defending him, then he speaks honestly.

Her vision regains color as her front paws lower to the ground. Her Lord steps close enough to grasp her by the jaw with one hand, his voice soothing, with only a tremor of fear for her remaining laced through the words. “ _They were not trying to harm each other.”_

Finally, she finds her voice and stops sending images and emotions like an infant. She instead says aloud, “ _I thought our King was in danger_.”

“ _I am proud of your bravery. But you are not yet skilled in combat with humans. Please, do not do that again.”_

 _“I will not. But what were they doing?_ ”

At this, her Lord speaks in human tongue. “The King was not in danger. He and Sir Galahad are training.”

She follows his gaze to their King, whose grip on his sword has not loosened since her landing. His golden head-fur—hair, she recalls the word with pride—has dampened from exertion, and tension lines his face. But his eyes soften when they meet, and he says, “My knights are no threat to me. We practice fighting, with no intent to injure or kill.”

She has to sniff towards the knight before she feels fully settled. The poor human seems to rattle inside his armor and she bows her head in apology. Her legs curl up under her as she tries not to let her embarrassment show.

Her Lord is not fooled. He presses his forehead to hers and grins; their bond flares with amusement, and drains of lingering fear. Around them, in vibrant color, other knights appear from the sidelines where she had not registered their presence—including her Lord’s favorites, those knights she had met and groomed upon their first meeting. And beyond them are other humans, like those from villages she has flown above.

A lingering fear twists in the air, like her action has not been forgotten or forgiven quite yet. But she has her pride and will only apologize by not repeating the mistake. Besides, she is not yet skilled enough with human-tongue sounds to make one.  Instead, she decides they need to see a non-threat. Her display was strong enough to scare a hatchling; humans are more skittish and need a comparable image.

“Hey, no—you’re too big! I can’t carry you, you—ah!”

So she knocks her Lord over onto his back and curls her head on his chest, like she used to when she was small enough to fit into his arms.

The behavior of a hatchling transcends any language.

She is gratified when their King throws his head back and laughs.

:: :: ::  

Her Lord lets her sit beside him on the edge of the training field. The knights she has met before all come to greet her. Those she has not met are much warier. Camelot’s people also do not approach her. Some call out to her Lord in greeting, and he makes a point to rest on hand on her wing or shoulder.

She wishes that her first impression hadn’t been a mistaken defense of a teaching King. On the field, he clearly leads the knights, corrects them, and encourages them—not someone who needs her assistance in a fight.

After a time, she realizes that a human in very different clothing has come to the field. The fabric of the skirt is smoother, shines in the light, and glows in rich color. Her Lord had explained why humans covered themselves and how, and she sends a questioning thought to him. This human, whose steps are surely and slowly coming toward them, is different.

He laughs when he spots her. “ _Do you remember asking me about ‘other she’, not-so-little one?_ ”

A ‘she’! She lifts her head from her front claws and watches eagerly. The human meets her eyes, only a faint thread of uncertainty evident in her expression. Her Lord stands and bows. “Queen Guinevere, what brings you out today?”

This is the Queen! Her Lord told her the King had a Queen who shared rule of Camelot.

“A queen may occasionally see to the knight’s training herself, if she wishes,” comes the answer, but the Queen looks only at her. “And I see we have another visitor today, Court Sorcerer.”

“I hate that title,” her Lord says. He rubs her shoulder scales. “Aithusa, this is Queen Guinevere. Gwen, Aithusa.”

To her surprise, the Queen kneels down in front of her. Their faces parallel, their eyes connected, she feels a sudden exhilaration. Only wonder shows on this human female’s face. Like the knights she introduced herself to by way of a dropped rabbit in a campsite. Like the King, once he stopped being angry at her Lord.

This human is special to her Lord. She can feel it in their bond.

Well, there is only one way to show familial connection. But this will be a delicate operation—she is much larger than she had been the first time she met humans properly. Stretching her neck, she nudges at the Queen’s hair with her snout, scooting slowly forward. The human does not move, gasping only a short sound much like what she has identified as ‘laughter’. Encouraged by the reception, she gently nudges away the irritating hoop of metal placed around the Queen’s head and uses one claw to start stroking through the compressed hair. It is twisted around itself and she frees it easily, releasing a loose cloud of long, tight curls.

These humans. They need to be taught so carefully how to care for themselves.

“Merlin. Is she—”

“Grooming means she considers you family. I apologize, she sees personal space differently.”

“I had noticed. Arthur will have a fit if he saw the crown fall, though.”

“We can pretend I was holding it. I doubt he saw.”

Through one eye, she watches as the King crosses his arms and watches her. His lips are pressed too tightly together. She thinks he is attempting to prevent a smile, which she understands indicates human happiness. Though why baring one’s teeth is a sign of pleasure, she will never really understand.

Around him, she notices that the other knights are slowing in their movements. The decrease in clanking reaches the ears of the Queen, as well. She fidgets and says, “They are all staring.”

“Nope.” Her Lord twirls the metal circle around in his hands. “Absolutely not.”

The King has decided to approach, waving one hand to release his knights from their ‘training’. They are slow to move, eyes curious and amused, but it seems that this strange time of waving dangerous objects at one another has come to an end.

“Merlin—”

“ _Mer_ -lin.”

She finishes her grooming and contents herself with resting her head in the Queen’s lap. Delicate human hands pat her head-scales and she closes her eyes, content.

“Sire.”

“Can you teach your charge that it’s not polite to knock crowns off the heads of queens?”

“Afraid I can’t get that message across, sire. She’s a bit stubborn about the grooming. Takes after her King.”

Aithusa lets her eyelids close. Soaking in the sunlight is good for her heart-flame, and so is her human-tongue learning. She’s paying attention closely when her Lord’s King insults him, and her own lips curl in a human-style smile when they start bickering the way they often do.

The Queen’s delicate fingers brush across her scales soothingly and she basks in the feeling. This must be what a home feels like.


End file.
